


Gino's Eleven

by sarahenany



Category: I Spy
Genre: Futurefic, M/M, Slash, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany





	Gino's Eleven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/gifts).



_"Je vais!"_

 _"Io vado!"_

 _"Je vais!"_

 _"Io vado!"_

 

Kelly walked through the hallway of their tiny Paris apartment with an armful of Christmas decorations, smiling down at Scotty, squatting cheerfully on the floor with Fabio and Anna-Maria, chattering in an incomprehensible mélange of languages – Kelly could make out French, English and Italian before he was stopped cold by a large crate propped by the kitchen door. "Much as it pains me to deprive you of your disciples, Socrates, I need a hand here?"

 

Scotty, looking up at him, exchanged another few words with the pair of four-year-old language prodigies before excusing himself and getting to his feet, smiling proudly. "They're at _that_ age," he volunteered, moving the box aside from Kelly as Fabio and Anna-Maria scampered off, comparing newly-learned phrases and giggling to each other.

 

"I'll bite." Kelly dumped the decorations into Scotty's arms and turned towards a hall closet. "What age is that?"

 

"Discovered the difference between French and Italian."

 

Kelly shouldered the closet door shut, balancing a pile of dishes in his arms. "Noah Webster," he said in a mock-aggrieved tone, "is there no branch of your family that was in any way similar to, y'know, a normal family, discovering how to shoot, uh, um, peashooters and play stickball and discover the difference between the birds and the bees?"

 

"They both got wings, man, what's the difference?"

 

Kelly blinked, turning indignantly. "Both got wings, both got—Really, man, what a waste of all that education, if all you've got to say about these, these wonderful creatures of Nature is that they both got _wings?!"_

 

"What are you boys arguing about this time?" Scotty's Mom was positively grinning, belying the sharpness in her tone as she squeezed past the two men in the hallway of their tiny Quartier Latin apartment, four-month-old Francesca on her arm. Surrounding her was a miasma of what everyone in the family just called Eau de Francesca, to be polite.

 

"Nothing, Mom," Scotty snapped to attention, less out of respect for his mother than to get as far from the Eau de Francesca as possible in the narrow space. Parisian architects all apparently designed their apartments for midgets, or so he had long ago been forced to conclude. But the sleeping smile of the baby cut right through the odor. "Hi there, Francesca." He smiled beatifically down at the sleeping baby, reaching out and chucking her on the chin. Blinking awake, Francesca puckered up her face and began to wail.

 

"Your charm is declining with age, sir." Kelly backed smilingly towards the kitchen.

 

"Oh, The Old Man of the Sea speaks of age, does he? I'll _show_ you _declining,"_ Scotty opened the kitchen door, unloading four heavy serving-dishes from the cabinet and following Kelly inside.

 

"Now, now, Alexander," Mom smiled. "There, there!" She jiggled Francesca on her arm and began to coo to the baby.

 

"Got up on the wrong side of her crib again." Scotty muttered, dumping the dishes on the counter and collapsing onto a stool. "Rip Van Baby. Interrupt her beauty sleep and she'll make more noise than all her fifty brothers and sisters put together."

 

"Professor Lobachevsky," Kelly began in all seriousness, "I do believe that your beloved Sophia only had six children, which if we calculate…"

 

Scotty buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. "It's not that I don't like having the whole family here, right? I _love_ havin' 'em here. I _love_ the kids. You know that."

 

"I know that," said Kelly, slightly amused by Scotty's apologetic tone, as though he were apologizing for insulting Kelly's family.

 

"It's just that, after a week in here with you, me, Mom, Sophia, Gino, Francesca, Carlo, Enzo, Ferrara, Fabio, Anna-Maria – the apartment wasn't made to hold three hundred people, man." He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. "Not to mention the Eau de Francesca and the 3 A.M. feeding."

 

"Three hundred people. I see."

 

"What does your esteemed self see?" Scotty mumbled.

 

Kelly turned from stacking the plates, smiling. "Why, I see that your mathematical skills are also declining with age, sir."

 

"How's about a certain person cool it with the age. I'm only thirty-nine!"

 

"Soon to be forty."

 

"Do not even _mention_ that in my presence, or I shall be forced to…"

 

"You are certainly excused, sir." Kelly's voice was smooth and suave. "It is indeed known as a midlife crisis, what men experience when they grow to an, er, advanced age…"

 

"You're really having fun cracking wise about this, ain't ya?"

 

Kelly leaned back against the counter on his elbows. "Don't know what you're complaining about. I've been over the hill for years, and you don't see me griping."

 

Scotty looked up—if Kelly didn't know better, he'd swear he was looking at him through his lashes. "They always warned me about older men."

 

"Yeah, what'd they say? That they get arthritis?"

 

"No, that they like to corrupt the virtue of innocent, handsome younger men."

 

"Ha!" Kelly turned back to the dishes. "That, sir, automatically puts you out of the running, as, if I recall correctly, you were _never_ an innocent, despite your claims to the contrary, and as for being handsome, I hate to be the one to break it to you…"

 

"I can deduce your intent, and I'll thank you not to gratuitously insult…"

 

Seven-year-old Carlo burst in, tablecloth cape trailing behind him, and tugged excitedly at Scotty's apron. _"Nonna Alessandro!"_ Kelly snorted into his hand, braving Scotty's glare; he'd picked up enough Italian over the years to know that Scotty had just got called "Grandma Alexander."

 

"Say something," said Scotty, a hand dramatically draped over his eyes.

 

Taking pity on his partner, Kelly knelt to Carlo. "Hey, Captain America," for since the little guy arrived here he'd dived into their stack of comics and emerged only periodically to don a cape and proclaim himself a superhero, "why do you call Grandpa Alexander that? He's a man. A man is _Nonno._ You know that, right?"

 

"But-but-he's wearing a flowery apron! Antonio from my math class says anyone who wears flowers is a girl!"

 

Kelly burst out laughing. When his mirth subsided, he grinned up at Scotty, who muttered, "Antonio's not the only one gettin' a smack in the mouth if he don't explain this real quick…"

 

Bending to the seven-year-old, Kelly scooped him up, seating him comfortably on one arm. "Carlo," Kelly's face lights up with the debonair man-of-the-world grin that still had the ladies eating out of his hand, "As a superhero in the making, you have to be a judge of character."

 

"Sense the bad guys from a hundred miles away," the boy said earnestly.

 

"Yes. And one of the things about character is seeing through appearances. No matter what they wear, you must never, never mistake a man for a woman. Flowers are just flowers – plants. But a woman is a special, divine, graceful creature, a miracle of beauty and charm. When you walk along the beach, and…"

 

"Let's not pad the part, Rudy. Kid's a little young for the X-rated version."

 

"Ahem. Yes. Well, as I was saying, a woman is—a wom—Now _really,"_ Kelly turned on Scotty, "I was building up to something here, to a _point,_ and here you had to go and, and, interrupt the flow of my creativity, and that's just—"

 

"You were building up to a _blue movie,_ Lothario, and the kid's five years—"

 

"He is seven years old, and… Carlo," Kelly turned to him, "you wanna fly down from there and scope out the hallway for intruders while Nonno Alessandro and I finish our chat?"

 

"Geronimooooo!" Using the new English word he'd learned, Carlo plummeted out of Kelly's hold, cape fluttering behind him, and charged off with a yell.

 

"Now look what you did," said Kelly without heat. "Had to make him leave. Now what's he gonna think of us?"

 

"He already thought I'm a woman, what could possibly be worse?" Scotty fumbled ineffectually at his apron. "Told you we shoulda gone with the 'Kiss the Cook', man."

 

"That would be entirely too much of a temptation." Kelly planted an exaggerated smooch on Scotty's lips. "I'd never get any work done."

 

Scotty kissed him lightly back, even as he rolled his eyes. "You're _retired."_

 

Kelly smiled warmly, but the corner of his mouth quirked  up in that way he had when he'd about to come up with some wonderful argument. "You have just always gotta rain on my parade, do you not. And anyway, we are _not_ retired. Why even now, good sir, we are on a case, in case – that was not a pun, I hasten to add – in _case_ you had forgotten, we are _on_ a case for the Sûreté."

 

"Yeah, but we're retired from th—"

 

"Hey, Mata Hari, not so loud with the checkered past. There are innocents in the next room."

 

Scotty snorted. "Innocents? The last time Gino was innocent was when he was occupying the interior of Gino's Momma, and maybe not even then."

 

"Your lack of faith is astounding, Herman. Especially when I recall how kindly disposed towards him you were at our first encounter, oh dear me, yes…"

 

"Go on and rub my face in it. I'm sure you have nothing better to do."

 

"Nothing better than remind you of your own errors of judgment? There may be things that would be more important, but certainly nothing I would enjoy more." Kelly stepped close to Scotty, turning the full wattage of his smoldering grin on him. "Well, maybe one thing."

 

Scotty reached out in spite of himself, twining his hand in the hair at the back of Kelly's neck, pulling him in. "Oh, sure, distract me from my righteous indignation with the lure of carnal pleasures."

 

Kelly was slightly breathless, but his tone was smooth and smug. "Ah, would you care to inform me, sir, what your righteous indignation was righteously indignant _about?"_

 

Scotty's hand stilled. "I have forgotten."

 

Kelly did laugh out loud then. "I knew there was a reason I let you corrupt my virtue."

 

"Your _what?"_ Scotty slid his hand out of Kelly's hair, releasing him as he stepped backwards. "Wasn't aware there was any left of that. You were just so sad, man, panhandling a tumble from every cutie who came down the pike. _Virtue_ , the man says."He shook his head, smiling. "You went through more girls than the Girl Scouts went through Girl Scout cookies. Heck, you went through more girls than the Girl Scouts went through Girl Scouts!"

 

"That was different," Kelly smirked. "That was," he raised his eyes to heaven and placed a hand over his heart, "before I had the love of a good man to bring me in from the cold, reform my dissolute ways, and—What are you doing?"

 

Scotty didn't look up from the drawer he was rummaging in. "Lookin' for my violin. That or my insulin shots."

 

"I'm gonna shut you up if it's the last thing I do." Kelly pressed up tight against Scotty.

 

"Hey."

 

"What?"

 

"We can't. Or it _will_ be the last thing you do."

 

"I know." Kelly moved regretfully aside. "But did you hafta remind me?"

 

"That's another thing," Scotty huffed as he slumped back onto the kitchen stool. "Since our family, greatest blessing in a sinner's life, 'case you think different, since our family arrived, I make it seven days or one week ago, I have not had a single solitary moment to indulge those so-called carnal pleasures that we were discussing…"

 

Kelly shrugged philosophically. "That's what you get for living in a two-bedroom apartment."

 

"That's what _you_ get for being a gentleman and giving Sophia and Gino our bedroom."

 

"Scrooge, Scrooge, Scrooge," Kelly tut-tutted reprovingly. "Your very own daughter and her loving husband, on their first ever trip to Paris. The least we could do was offer them the bridal suite."

 

"That appellation is most inaccurate. The man calls that closet we sleep in the bridal suite?"

 

"That was most ungenerous, besides being entirely beside the point."

 

"Beside the point, I'll tell you what's beside the point. I love them and all, but," Scotty lowered his voice, "Gino _said_ they were gonna stay in a _hotel."_

 

Kelly knelt before Scotty, grinning openly now. His voice, when he spoke, was falsely understanding. "Well, Stanley, you know what he _also_ said. He _also_ said that his _business_ _deal_ fell through."

 

"You are really having a ball rubbing my face in this, aren't ya."

 

"Well, I try—" The jangling of the telephone in the hallway cut them off. "You," Kelly pointed a finger, "are saved by the bell." He darted out into the corridor.

 

 _"I_ am?" Scotty followed him out, but fell silent when he saw Kelly waving an arm for quiet.

 

"Yeah, Max," Kelly said into the phone. "Yeah, we found the hiding-place where the originals…"

 

"IT WAS NOT CLEOPATRA! IT WAS NEFERTITI! I CHECKED IN THE BOOK! SO THERE!" Enzo and Ferrara ran through the corridor, fighting loudly in Italian.

 

"I SAID," bellowed Kelly above the din, "WE FOUND THE LOCATION WHERE THE ORIGINAL PAINTINGS ARE BEING… Couldya hold it DOWN, kids!" he called. "No, no, Max, we're not in any trouble…"

 

"NOOOOOOO! ENZO, LASCIAMI!" came a scream from the kitchen, followed by a resounding crash. Scotty darted inside, hoping not to find any fatalities.

 

He poked his head out a moment later. "Remember that china you wanted to get rid of? You got your wish."

 

"No, Max, that was not an explosion – No, no explosions…"

 

Kelly kept trying to reassure their boss, listening with about half an ear as Scotty's voice echoed through the kitchen door, words vaguely discernible. "…into archaeology, right?" he said to the kids, who give an excited response. There was a scrape of broken crockery. "Okay, so all these artifacts need to be put in the evidence bag here. This here, this here is a fragment of 3000-year-old pottery, and this used to be the statue of a great big…"

 

"No… no, Max, we are not being taken hostage. Yes. No. Yes. Okay. We'll meet you at the Louvre in twenty minutes."

 

Kelly had barely got the phone in the cradle and Scotty got his coat on when Sophia's head poked out of the living-room, as if summoned by magic. Two sets of twins, a son and a daughter had put a little more flesh on her body, but the stars still shine in her eyes. "The Louvre? I have never been to the Louvre!"

 

Gino emerged after her, already dressed in a green checked shirt and light-colored bell-bottoms that matched his long sideburns. "If my angel wishes to go to the Louvre, to the Louvre she shall go." He kissed her hand, and she beamed. "I am sure our _Nonna_ will not mind watching the children."

 

"Why, of course," Mom said amiably, coming in as if by magic, although she did give him a shrewd look. "I'll watch the children. You kids go out and have fun."

 

Kelly nudged Scotty. "Say something!"

 

"Uh." Scotty looked into Sophia's earnest brown eyes. "The thing is, y'see, the museum's closed. We're going on official business…"

 

"A private tour, away from the crowds of sightseers, the crowds always at the doors?" Gino said. "That is only what my jewel deserves, and surely your father will not begrudge a visit to the museum to his only daughter!"

 

"Now, Gino," said Sophia reprovingly. "If my father says I must not come, then of course I will not accompany him. If his daughter's presence would embarrass him." She sighed sadly. "Much as I would have loved to see the Louvre in the quiet of the evening. But your work comes first, Papa."

 

Kelly carefully hid his smile as those big, liquid brown eyes gazed up at Scotty's again.Looking around, he caught Mom's similarly amused eyes, saying clearly: _He never stood a chance._

 

__________________________

 

"But I do not understand, gentlemen," said Maximilian de Brouget of the Sûreté, formerly known as Agent Chrysanthemum, "why you did not immediately return the fakes, if you have found them. I merely wished to recover these priceless treasures for future generations, not launch some kind of…"

 

"Max," Kelly said patiently, "there's something we need to check out, first."

 

"I have told you, the ownership of the warehouse is proving a little difficult to trace. Every owner appears to be some sort of alias…"

 

"Not just that. If what we need to check out about the museum staff – if it pans out, you'll end up knowing who owns that warehouse."

 

"But, if the paintings have already been located…"

 

Scotty's voice was gentle. "Do you trust us?"

 

De Brouget stood a little straighter. _"Mais bien sûr!_ It is not only that I owe you my life, but that your record is flawless. Why," said the Frenchman, warming to his subject, "your instructions on the alarms in the museum, if it were not…"

 

 _"Max, est-ce qu'on puisse parler en  français?"_ Scotty cut in urgently, looking over at Sophia and Gino, standing within earshot looking at a painting with their arms around each other.

 

Max obediently switched to French in response to Scotty's request. "But why?" he asked in that language. "My English is…"

 

Kelly leaned in. "Your English is fine, Max. But we'd just as soon not have any strangers – even Scotty's _entirely trustworthy_ son-in-law – hear anything secret. You were saying you trusted us?"

 

"But of course. If not, as I was saying, I would not have had the museum deactivate all the alarms on your say-so. It is only that…"

 

"Max," Scotty cut in. "How long have the paintings been disappearing?"

 

"You know that. When you examined the fakes, it appears… For at least fifteen years."

 

"That's a helluva long time," said Kelly. "Do you just wanna _recover_ the paintings – or stop them disappearing in future, and being replaced with fakes?"

 

The Frenchman blinked. "But I thought they were found…"

 

"They were _found,"_ Kelly said, "which doesn't mean that the thief was _caught."_

 

"You have baffled me, gentlemen."

 

"Well, we might unbaffle you in a minute." Kelly clapped him on the back. "My man Scotty has to check something out."

 

For nearly an hour Scotty stepped up close to the paintings, taking them down from the frames in a way that would certainly have set all the alarms jangling if they had been turned on, examining details with a magnifying glass, sometimes licking the paintings ("No eating the artwork", Kelly couldn't resist admonishing him, to which "If you would feed me, sir, I would not be in danger of consuming the legacy of fine art passed down through generations" was the response), while Kelly trailed behind him, taking notes when he asked, both of them followed by an increasingly mystified de Brouget.

 

Finally, Scotty straightened the last painting in its place, and turned to the two other men, gesturing with his head. They adjourned from the room, and made their way downstairs to the Denon section, stopping in the corridor just outside the Winged Victory of Samothrace atrium; the passageway was quiet and secluded, the twilight providing more than enough illumination for the impromptu conference. "I could detect the forgery," he said.

 

Kelly grimaced, hard.

 

De Brouget looked puzzled. "Well, yes," he said, still in French. "They _are_ forgeries, no?"

 

"I'm not an expert," Scotty explained.

 

"So you cannot tell that they are forgeries?"

 

"No – no, that's the point. I'm not an expert, and I _can_ tell. Even _I_ could tell that they're forgeries _."_

 

"Even though he's not an expert," Kelly cuts in.

 

"I am confused."

 

"That's the whole _point,_ y'see."

 

"Gentlemen, I must admit I am..."

 

"Max," Kelly began. "How did we know to check for forgery? I mean, how did we know that _these_ paintings were fakes?"

 

"Because you found the originals. In the warehouse."

 

"And if we hadn't?" prodded Scotty.

 

Max thought. "The fakes would have stayed in their places."

 

"And you still don't see what we're driving at?" said Kelly gently.

 

He fell silent at the sudden sound of footfalls echoing on the marble floor. Paul Arnaud, director of the Louvre, strode up to them, an imposing, large gentleman in a dark suit with a handlebar moustache. "Ah, Messieurs," he said. "Are we any closer to finding the author of this dastardly plot?"

 

"We're getting there," Scotty replied amiably.

 

"Well, hurry, gentlemen! My priceless paintings are disappearing!"

 

Kelly gave him a long look. "We're doing our best."

 

"I need better than your best!" Arnaud turned to Max. "You are assigning your best men to the case, I trust?"

 

"These are my best men," Max said with dignity.

 

"Well, I want results!"

 

"Who's responsible for determining the authenticity of your paintings?" Kelly asked smoothly.

 

The big man stilled for a moment. "It differs according to department. In the matter of Egyptian antiquities, Monsieur Hawass, and as for the department of Roman sculpture, there is M. Monreux. For French paintings from the seventeenth century and earlier, there is Monsieur Ronin. For Italian oil paintings from the same period, there is Monsieur Schefrin. Spanish paintings from that age are handled by Mr. Goddard. For French painting from 1801 until the present day, with some overlap of course, there is Madame Jaquand-Goddefroy… Then…"

 

"Right, can we get a list of all those experts?" Scotty cut him off politely.

 

"It will be on your desk in the morning," said Arnaud.

 

"On _his_ desk," Kelly gestured, not impolitely, at de Brouget.

 

"We don't have desks, you see," added Scotty.

 

"We have tables."

 

"Kitchen tables."

 

"And side tables."

 

"And multiplication tables."

 

"And tables of contents…"

 

Arnaud narrowed his eyes at de Brouget. "Monsieur, are you sure these are your best men? I want results, not a comedy act!"

 

"Ah, that is where you are mistaken," smiled Kelly.

 

"You get two," interjected Scotty, "for the price of one, you see."

 

"M. le Directeur, you must understand the American sense of humor…"

 

As de Brouget smoothed the Director's ruffled feathers, the two Americans stepped away out of earshot, into the high-ceilinged atrium where the magnificent, headless figure of Samothrace towered high above them. Kelly loved her, but looking over at Scotty, he wondered how, although he'd been in here countless times, he had missed Scotty's enthralled expression as he stared up at the stone statue.

 

"You know what I always dreamed of, first time I came here?" Scotty murmured to Kelly.

 

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

 

"I dreamed of having a romantic assignation right here, at the feet of Samothrace. She spreads her Winged Victory above, see, while I make love to some bronze goddess on the stairs."

 

Kelly looked up at the starry-eyed face, so young and innocent still, and swallowed down a pang. "Instead of which you get a fish-belly white, middle-aged lamebrain to track down missing paintings with."

 

"Hey." Scott's voice was sharp. "Don't insult my partner. It makes me mad."

 

"Right." Kelly shrugged, and made to walk off.

 

He was halted as Scotty grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, whispering out of the side of his mouth in a fake Mafioso accent. "Anyone talks dat way about my _compadre_ gets a bullet in da back." And he planted his mouth quickly on Kelly's.

 

"You—" Kelly couldn't help half-smiling even as he stepped back hurriedly. "You gone nuts, or what?"

 

Scotty looked around. "Wanna have that assignation now?"

 

"And spend the New Year explaining to a judge why we were committing acts of public indecency at the feet of Samothrace?" Kelly started to grin, knowing what Scotty was really offering. "Thanks, Hector, but I'll pass."

 

"You may be right," grinned Scotty. "We're running out of countries that'll take us."

 

Kelly suddenly tasted bitterness at the back of his throat.

 

Scotty frowned, and he knew he hadn't hidden it fast enough. "Ah, Kel... Queen Victoria is not amused, all right, you know I…"

 

"It's okay," Kelly cut him off. He turned away. "We should leave before they throw us out."

 

Scotty followed, voice light with the smoothness of experience. "True, true. C'mon, let's get back to those kids before they wreck the joint."

 

___________________________

 

Kelly couldn't shake the heaviness that had settled upon him as they rode back in the cab. Sophia was chattering about the wonderfulness of the Ancient Egyptian jewelry exhibit, and Gino about how crazy those old pharaohs were, and he let their cheerfulness fill the cab as he looked out the window and cursed himself for dragging Scotty down with him. Down, and away. Away from home, from everything he loved. Oh, Scotty was always one for seeing the bright side, but Kelly knew perfectly well which one of them had given up more due to their enforced exile. _More to lose,_ he thought ruefully. Country, home, family, future, all lost to Scotty because of him, and Kelly knew that if he spent the rest of his life making it up to his partner, it still wouldn't be enough.

 

They'd got careless, that was all. A hidden surveillance camera based on a jealous agent's tip-off, and they'd found themselves in an asylum, scheduled for female hormone therapy and surgery. Russ had authorized it, livid, betrayed. "A homosexual is the worst security risk there is," Kelly had once read in a Bond novel, so he understood how their one-time boss and mentor felt; but the thing was, Kelly had never applied the appellation to himself. He was a man. He'd just loved Scotty enough for nothing else to make any difference, he thought as he watched the Rue de Rivoli flashing by the cab window, streetlights sparkling in the clear air. Forecast was snow, sometime tonight. White Christmas. Huh.

 

If it had just been him, he'd probably have given up. But to see Scotty condemned to such a fate… . It was probably that which had led him to stage that crazy midnight escape from the asylum. Kelly had broken out, researched the countries where homosexuality was legal, hit upon the Code Napoléon. He'd enlisted their pilot friend Lindy, packed their bags and gone back for Scotty. He'd ended up bodily carrying his heavily sedated partner out of there – Scotty, with his resistance to drugs, had been pumped full of so much junk that he'd nearly died. He'd only come to on the transatlantic flight, Kelly frantic with worry by then, terrified that that brilliant mind might have been damaged. But it hadn't, and Kelly had felt no shame as he'd wept with relief.

 

It had taken a while to nurse Scotty back to full health, though, and he doubted they'd have managed it, and fought extradition as well, if they hadn't found an unexpected ally in Maximilian de Brouget, now a very high-ranking government official in their adopted country. The guy'd had the welcome mat out, protected them from Russell Gabriel's wrath, and offered them an apartment and a job, all out of gratitude to Kelly for some imagined life-saving favor long ago, and with Scotty needing care so badly, Kelly had been desperate enough to accept the help. And they didn't make a bad crime-busting team, he had to admit; he wasn't sure he'd work for his own government again, not after what they'd done to Scotty, but he knew that he and Scotty had done Max proud.

 

It hadn't worked out too bad, he admitted. He himself was at peace. But he hated to be the reason for depriving Scotty of a home. It was one reason Kelly was so pleased at this Christmas family reunion; a chance to give something back to Scotty after all he'd lost because of him. Mom knew, and, miracle of miracles, wasn't revolted, but Scotty preferred to keep it from Sophia and Gino, and Kelly could understand that…

 

"Hey. Hey! I'm talking to you, man!"

 

"Hm?" Kelly blinked, realizing Scotty had been calling to him for some time.

 

"Home, James. We has arrived."

 

Kelly alighted hurriedly, fumbling in his pockets, not finding his wallet, and fumbled some more, finally noticing that the taxi had already driven off, Sophia and Gino had gone on ahead into the apartment building, and Scotty was looking at him, seeing right through him in that unnerving way he had.

 

 Scotty smiled, warm and true. "Nowhere else I'd rather be, Jack. And don't you forget it."

 

Kelly cut his eyes over at him, almost believing it.

 

Scotty clapped him on the shoulder, hand drifting up to ruffle the hair at the nape of Kelly's neck. "Gonna doubt it after all these years?"

 

They walked into the building, Scotty's hand still resting comfortably on Kelly's back.

____________________________________________________

 

"I get to be the Duke of Wellington!" Enzo declared.

 

"No fair, you got to be the Duke last time!" Kelly pouted. He folded his arms, sitting on the floor with Enzo and Ferrara, and leaned back against the couch. "I'm not getting run through the chest again."

 

"I could be Napoleon," said Ferrara.

 

"You can't be, you're a girl," her twin protested. "You can be Josephine."

 

"Josephine never does anything, except sit there looking pretty!" Ferrara stamped her foot. "I want to _do_ something!"

 

"You can help me stuff the turkey, dear," Mom suggested, coming into the room on the tail-end of the sentence.

 

 _"_ _Merda!"_ Ferrara clapped a hand to her forehead. "See?" she appealed to Kelly. _"See?"_

 

 _"Ferrara!"_ exclaimed Sophia, shocked. "Language!"

 

"Mamma!" Ferrara whined. "Girls never get to do anything!"

 

"That's not true," Kelly told her sincerely. "One of the best secret agents I knew was a woman. We had the most wonderful adventures together."

 

"Like what kind of adventures?" asked Enzo eagerly.

 

"I can't tell you, it's top secret," Kelly pursed his lips. "Specially since you want me to be Napoleon."

 

"How about I let you be Wellington, and you tell me the story?"

 

"Well…" Kelly appeared to think about it.

 

Tired, apparently, of waiting for an answer, Mom snagged Scotty as he passed through. "Alexander, you can come help me stuff the turkey, can't you?"

 

"But I was playing lingo hide-and-seek!" Scotty protested as he was dragged along by the elbow, vanishing into the kitchen.

 

"Think of it this way," Kelly called after him. "Anna-Maria's never going to look for you in the kitchen." He did a double-take. "What's lingo hide-and-seek?"

 

Scotty was already gone, but Ferrara answered brightly. "It's something only Fabio and Anna-Maria play, with Nonno Alessandro. You don't win just by finding someone – you have to tell them a word, and if they give you the same word in another language, they get another try."

 

Kelly rubbed a hand all over his face. "Only your grandfather would invent a game like that."

 

"Oh, he didn't. Fabio invented it. He just plays it."

 

Kelly blinked as Enzo asked again, "So are you gonna tell that story about the secret agent?"

 

"I will most certainly tell it," he acquiesced, settling back against the sofa cushions. "It started in…"

 

"Scheherazade," called Scotty, "storytime's over."

 

Kelly looked up, every bit as petulant as his two whining listeners. "But I was just going to tell them about—"

 

Scotty looked apologetic. "Max got those results back."

____________________________________________________

 

"This is another fine mess you've gotten us into."

 

They sat on the bed, enveloped in the romantic miasma of Eau de Francesca, looking over the records; the entire job hadn't taken more than twenty minutes. Scotty, who had spoken, tossed the papers disgustedly aside. "Not one of them has been workin' there long enough to have had anything to do with it."

 

"Cross-check's negative, too."

 

Scotty flopped back onto the bed. "Way I see it, there isn't anybody at the museum who coulda worked there long enough to be lookin' at the fakes and callin' 'em real."

 

"Except the doorman, and one of the cleaning ladies," Kelly volunteered brightly.

 

"I'm sure that's a great help," he muttered. A moment later he felt Kelly's mouth on his. "Mmm. Now that really _is_ a great help." Kelly made a little sound in his throat that Scotty was sure could drive a saint to sinning. Not that Scotty was anywhere near a saint. He reached over and slid his arms around Kelly's back, sliding his lips over Kelly's soft ones, the sensation sparking pleasure in him and making his loins throb as the doorknob turned—

 

He flung himself off the bed and grabbed a sheet of paper, sitting casually on the floor, and Kelly was similarly in position before the door had so much as cracked open. "Can we finish our story now?" Enzo asked.

 

"Really, darling," Sophia bustled in after him, "it's not polite not to knock…"

 

"It's okay." Scotty heaved himself up from the bed. "We were just coming. Um, coming out." He swallowed. "I mean, coming. Out."

 

"Come on, Enzo. Your grandfather is working. He will come when he is ready." Sophia beamed at them and withdrew.

 

"Can I get you a brassiere with that Freudian slip?" Kelly deadpanned.

 

"Ah, can it."

________________________________

 

Kelly pushed away from the dinner table, stuffed. "Mom, this is wonderful. I don't ever remember eating so much."

 

Mom beamed. "Just wait until Christmas. I expect you to have a good appetite, Kelly."

 

"Hey, what about me?"

 

"You always have a good appetite, Alexander. Kelly's so skinny."

 

"The man is a triumph of genetics," Scotty grumbled.

 

"And besides, it'll be the first time Sophia and Gino and the children taste my turkey! It's an old family recipe," Mom smiled at Sophia. "If you like it, I'll be happy to write it down for you."

 

"That will be a wonderful Christmas gift," Sophia sighed.

 

"Oh, honey, I think I can do better than a measly recipe for your present!"

 

"You got me a Christmas present?" Sophia's eyes lit up. "Oh, you shouldn't have! What is it? What?"

 

"That's for me to know and you to find out, sweetheart." Mom laughed, patting Sophia's hand.

 

"I'm getting a present too!" Carlo sang out.

 

"And so am I!" said Ferrara, followed by a general chorus of affirmation from the others.

 

"And I will have a wonderful present for my jewel," said Gino gallantly.

 

Sophia looked so brightly into her husband's eyes that Scotty was forced to clear his throat. "Ah-Hem!"

 

"There are children present," Kelly supplied.

 

Scotty surprised him by snaking his hands round and covering Kelly's eyes. "Go on," he said amid the course of merriment, "I've protected the kiddies."

 

"Comedian," Kelly tried to appear disgruntled, but even he knew he wasn't fooling anybody.

________________________________________

 

"So did he knock off a bank or what?" drawled Kelly, as he washed and Scotty dried. The bare trees rustled through the window; it was already dark out, though it was no later than six o'clock.

 

"Huh?"

 

"All that stuff about getting her a present… I thought his business deal fell through?"

 

Scotty shrugged. "Who can tell?"

 

"I hope you didn't loan him anything," Kelly tried for sternness.

 

"Nope," said Scotty truthfully. "He's gotta learn to take care of his own family."

 

"I mean, if it was an emergency or something," Kelly amended hurriedly, "of course…"

 

"I dig, I dig. I wouldn't turn them from my door in the dead of night on Christmas Eve in a snowstorm, ya softy."

 

"Huh." Kelly's tone was still pensive. "Maybe he means another kind of present."

 

"What kind of present, O Philosophical One? World peace?" Scotty said as he stacked the last of the dishes in the cabinet.

 

Kelly shook his head. "It's really been a while for you if you don't know what kind of present a husband gives his wife." He waggled his eyebrows.

 

Scotty whirled. "Aw, man, that's just—that's just _wrong!"_ he whined, his face outraged. "You can't say that about my daughter!"

 

Kelly's grin grew wider. "Your daughter, Augustine, has seven children."

 

"Kinsey, Kinsey, don't you remember the golden rule invented by the English?" Scotty paused for a moment, then recited. "One's mother, sisters and daughters are always virgins…"

 

"…and have children by internal combustion," Kelly finished in unison.

 

"How'd you know that?"

 

"Only the thirty-second time you quote that to me." Kelly's face grew mischievous. "In fact, you quoted it to me when I hinted that Jo…"

 

Scotty clapped his hands over his ears in mock-horror. "Argh!"

 

"In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, Sophia appears to be the newest model of the internal combustion _engine…"_

 

"NO!"

 

Kelly  stepped closer to Scotty, with the charming smile that had never diminished with the years. "And y'know, if you wanna make it hot in _here…"_

 

"Coming through!" Mom called cheerfully, bustling into the kitchen with a trayful of salt-shakers and other paraphernalia. She set it down, beamed at both of them and bustled out again.

 

Kelly passed a hand over his eyes. "It's just no use, man, just no… Do you think if we asked the turkey nicely, it would let us share the oven for a quickie?"

 

"Only if one or both of us cut off his legs, man."

 

"Ours, or the turkey's?"

 

Scotty recoiled, eyes wide. "What do you mean, ours or the turkey's? Of _course, ours._ Cut off the _turkey's_ legs? Mom would have _both_ our hides."

 

"So we cut our legs off, and get a quickie in the oven?"

"Uh-huh." Scotty looked hard at Kelly. "Why you looking like The Thinker?"

 

Kelly raised one eyebrow. "At this point, I'm considerin' it."

 

Scotty opened his mouth, but closed it again as the telephone rang. "You expecting a call?" asked Scotty, on his way out to answer it.

 

"Must be my fan club," Kelly called after him. "Probably a wrong number…" he muttered as, alone in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and bent to refresh the turkey's marinade.

 

Scotty's face was serious as his head poked into the kitchen. "Saddle up the ol' hoss, Pard. The Louvre just got knocked off again."

_______________________________________

 

"I am telling you, messieurs, that this is almost certainly the previous thief!"

 

Kelly's voice echoed in the cavernous halls of the Ancient Egypt wing of the empty museum. "And I'm telling you the _modus operandi_ is all wrong!"

 

"There is a right way to steal?"

 

"What Kelly's saying, Max," Scotty cut in smoothly, "is that the previous robberies all replaced the originals with fakes. But these – this sacred scarab and Nefertiti's necklace – they just disappeared! If it was our guy, he'd have replaced these, too."

 

"Perhaps they were too difficult to duplicate."

 

"Then he'd have stolen something else."

 

"Come now, Mr. Scott. It does not make sense for there to be two separate sets of thieves!"

 

"Got that right," Scotty said. "But the alternative is even flakier."

 

"And what is that?"

 

"That these pieces," Kelly explained, "were stolen to cover up the earlier theft, now they know we're on the case."

 

"Do they know you have found the location of the original paintings?"

 

"No, at least they shouldn't have, and that's another thing," Kelly continued. "They wouldn't just change their preferred artwork from painting to sculpture."

 

"This does not make sense in so many ways," Scotty muttered, looking round again.

 

"I am hoping you can make sense of it, gentlemen."

 

"Count on it," Kelly said as they made a final sweep in preparation for departure.

__________________________________________

 

"There is," Scotty muttered as they rode back in the taxi, "something that does not sit right, here."

 

The promised soft snowfall was just starting, the flakes catching the lights that shimmered off the giant Christmas trees at the four corners of the Place de l'Etoile, and Scotty leaned across Kelly, admiring the view and enjoying his partner's open pleasure at the sight, before this crummy case reasserted itself. "Something's just – we're missing something, Jack, I can feel it."

 

Kelly listened. If there was something he'd learned to trust over the years, it was Scotty's instinct. "Something about the paintings? Something about… Okay, we're trained professionals," he ignored Scotty's snort, "let's take it from the top. Was anything too easy?"

 

"Yeah," Scotty said in one breath with Kelly, "detecting the fakes."

 

"And," Scotty supplied, "finding the hideout."

 

"Like someone…" Kelly inhaled deeply, _"wanted_ us to find it."

 

They locked eyes for a moment, then Kelly went on. "Okay, so that's one possibility. What else? Anything those paintings have in common?"

 

"We've _been_ through that," Scotty passed a hand over his eyes. "Other than them being worth upwards of fifty thousand dollars each, there's nothing that…" He drew in a breath. _"Kelly."_

 

 _"Arrêtez, s'il vous plait,"_ Kelly said sharply to the taxi-driver, and the cab ground to a halt; he had seen the Top Secret light in Scotty's eyes.

 

As they got out, pulling their greatcoats and scarves closer about them, Kelly led Scotty to a bench. It was soaked, though, so they stood behind it instead, the lights from the Christmas trees idyllically oblivious to their conversation. "Okay, Agatha Christie. Spill."

 

"Worth upwards of _fifty thousand dollars,_ Kel," Scotty said urgently, " _each,_ being stolen for more than _fifteen years—_ and nobody's _sold_ them yet?"

 

Kelly stilled. "Jesus. I'm an idiot."

 

"The man knows himself," Scotty riposted, but his tone was abstracted, and Kelly didn't even bother with a comeback. It was just too weird. Even discounting the mystery of the too-easy-to-spot fakes which nobody had spotted, the paintings, all this time, stored in a dumb little storehouse on the outskirts of the Bois de Boulogne, and no financial reward? Made no sense. And… Leaving the loot there, like the robbers were waiting for someone to discover them and… And what? Steal them again? Return them? _What?_

 

Hazel eyes met brown, mystified.

 

"We gotta find the link," Scotty finally said.

 

"Maybe those Ancient Egyptian statues are the clue?" Kelly asked dubiously.

 

"Start at the beginning," Scotty said. "Remember, trained professionals." His face screwed up and Kelly could almost see the mental gears turning. "Trained… pro…"

 

"That's right, keep saying that and maybe you'll believe it."

 

Scotty flapped a hand for silence. "We've looked at the subject-matter… Not the same."

 

"Not all French. Hell, not even all European."

 

"Not from similar time-periods, either; some Impressionist, some Renaissance, some…"

 

"Ancient Egyptian, now," Kelly muttered. "So, style, eras, subjects, provenance…" His eyes widened as he trailed off and stared at Scotty.

 

They said it in unison. _"Provenance."_

________________________

 

"Ferrara's gonna have our hides for missing storytime," Kelly said out of the corner of his mouth as they sat in the fluorescent lights of Max's office. The clock read 8:12 pm. "Not to mention Mom."

 

"She'll understand when we tell her we were busy saving the free world."

 

"We were not saving—it's just a bunch of paintin—The free—" Kelly flapped his hands helplessly. "You don't know the first thing about Mom, do you?"

 

 _"I_ do not know Mom? It is to laugh. Why, I knew her for twenty-three years before you ever laid eyes on…"

 

Kelly smiled smugly. "She'll side with Ferrara. You just don't understand women."

 

"They do say it takes one to know one."

 

"Them's fighting words… Millicent."

 

They fell silent as Max came into the room, accompanied by a records officer with thick glasses that did nothing to hide her disgruntlement at being dragged out to the office after hours. "This is Mademoiselle Lisette," he introduced. "She knows everything that was ever filed in the Records office. A truly remarkable memory. She has been…"

 

"I have been digging through dusty old crates for some time to find this information," Lisette snapped, dusting her hands off crossly.

 

"And we thank you."

 

Her reaction to Kelly's most charming smile was instantaneous; she softened visibly, her face lighting up. "It was worth it if it will be of help to you, _Monsieur..."_

 

"Robinson." Scotty rolled his eyes as Kelly took her hand and kissed it. "What do you have for us?"

 

"Well," Lisette shuffled through her papers, all business, "all the artworks except two were originally donated to the Louvre by the late Monsieur Richelieu, of the Richelieu family," she said reverently.

 

Kelly and Scotty looked sharply at each other as Max frowned. "I seem to remember there was some sort of excitement over that."

 

"Yes, there was." More rustling of papers.

 

"Could you tell us about it?" asked Kelly.

 

"But it's just some silly inheritance thing. It is not important."

 

"You never know, it might be. It's our job to look into the smallest details, no matter if they seem insignificant," Scotty said smoothly. "Unless you have forgotten…?"

 

The woman straightened in indignation. "I, not remember? Indeed not!" Her tone became less strident as she told the tale. "Richelieu Senior kept them in a bank vault, and when he died…"

 

"What year was that?"

 

"Um. 1952."

 

"Impressive memory," Scotty smiled at her.

 

"Thank you," preened Lisette.

 

"Go on, Mademoiselle." Max sounded slightly impatient.

 

"When he died, he willed them directly to the museum. When his executors took them from the bank, his son created a scandal, insisting that he be allowed to view the paintings. They were too valuable, and the lawyers refused. But that was the end of it." She shrugged as if to say _See? Nothing important._

 

Kelly leaned forward in his seat. "What did M. Richelieu do?"

 

"He was the head of the Richelieu…"

 

"Other than being an aristocrat," Scotty said smoothly.

 

Kelly gave her another patented smile. "We won't tell anyone."

 

She blinked, but no woman had withstood their combined power for long. "He was… a technological expert for a German company. I do not know the name."

 

The agents were silent for a moment. It was Kelly who finally asked the question. "When?"

 

She looked at him blankly. "I don't know when he started, but…" The data appeared to be scrolling through her head. "I think he retired in 1945."

___________________________________________________

 

"Are you _positive_ we can't go look him up now?"

 

Kelly patted Scotty's arm. "Down, boy. We can't go busting down aristocrats' homes in the dead of night."

 

"It's not the dead of night. It's only nine o'clock."

 

"So we'd miss cookies and milk before bed?"

 

"Are you interested in work, or in cookies and milk, you overgrown kid, you? Because…"

 

"Aw, c'mon, man, how can you even ask that?" Kelly asked. "Cookies and milk, of _course!_ No question!"

 

"I don't know about you," muttered Scotty. "Got some kinda Oedipus complex."

 

Kelly looked at him sideways. "Well, Mom is kinda combustible, too…"

 

"Aw, don't even kid about that, man." Scotty buried his face in his hands.

__________________________

 

"One thing that's driving me up the wall," Scotty said as they exited the lift, "is those two pieces. The ones that weren't from the same guy. They just don't fit the pattern."

 

Kelly nodded. "Max thinks it's the same guy," he said, his voice clearly showing what he thought of _that_   idea.

 

"Yeah, and the moon is made of green cheese."

 

"You mean it _isn't?"_

 

Scotty gave that comment all the attention it deserved. "It's like – just some different thief. Maybe an opportunist? It… There's something not making sense."

 

"You are correct," Kelly said.

 

"Huh. I can tell we're home," Scotty muttered _sotto voce,_ as the Eau de Francesca made itself known.

 

Kelly smiled. "Productive young lady we got there."

 

"Ain't that the truth."

 

Kelly stepped into the house just in time to crash into Anna-Maria. "Whoops!" He crouched to the girl. "All right there?"

 

 _"Zio Kelly!_ We were just playing Lingo Hide-and-Seek! Want to join us, Nonno Alessandro?"

 

Scotty knelt along with Kelly, saying good-humoredly, "Killing your own grandchildren, now really…" He trailed off at a sharp glance from Kelly. "Well, you're their uncle!"

 

However, he needn't have worried; the girl was busy giggling at her father, just running in from the other room. "Ha! I found you!" cried Gino triumphantly in Italian.

 

Anna-Maria scrunched her eyes shut, and said, her tone a challenge, _"Museo!"_

 

Gino grabbed her up in his arms. _"_ _Musée!"_ he crowed triumphantly, swinging his daughter around. "I win!"

 

He stopped swinging her to find two pairs of eyes staring at him accusingly. "You speak French?" Kelly said slowly, voice low and dangerous, the tone that had struck fear into the heart of many a double agent.

 

Gino gulped. He opened his mouth to reply, but Anna-Maria beat him to it, pointing proudly at her father and grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, yes! Fabio and I taught him last spring! He's very good at it!"

 

Kelly glared at Gino. "Where are they?"

________________

 

"I didn't… It was a spur-of-the-moment thing! An impulse!"

 

"An _impulse,"_ Scotty said, cold and dangerous, "is when you buy your wife a bracelet, not steal her a five-thousand-year-old necklace! And a priceless scarab to boot!"

 

The adults had gathered in the bathroom, the one room in the house where the door lock actually worked. Mom looked grave. The dignified effect was slightly spoiled by her seat on the porcelain throne, though she did carry it off with a certain poise; Sophia looked even less dignified, sitting on the bidet. Gino, being held up by his lapels by Scotty, was not faring as well.

 

"I cannot believe you," Scotty snarled. "We took you with us on a job, which if it has not escaped your notice is the only job we got right now, and all you can do is take advantage of that trust to betray us? _Again?"_

 

"It will not attach any suspicion to you."

 

Gino immediately seemed to realize it had been completely the wrong thing to say, because Scotty's eyes blazed afresh and he slammed him back up against the wall. _"'Will not attach'_ … Hoo, boy! Apart from that it's _stealing,_ apart from we'd _never_ betray our own trust like that – how'd you figure it, Einstein? You think the cops here are stumblebums? D'you really think they didn't get a single fingerprint, your picture on a security camera? Nothing?"

 

"But the cameras were off, you said so yourself." Gino endeavored to look self-righteous. "And I wore gloves."

 

"Oh, he wore _gloves."_ Scotty gave a big, false smile and let go of Gino with one hand to make a sweeping gesture at the room. "He wore gloves, isn't that just peachy, he wore—" He dropped the smile, whirled back and shoved Gino into the tile, hard. "Did it ever cross your empty head," he said through clenched teeth, "that even if what you said is true, we are the ones assigned to investigating the thefts at that museum? And if we knew what you'd done and made like nothing happened, we'd be betraying our trust? How'd you like that? You want us to be traitors? And for what? For a dumb kid who hasn't learned the first lesson about keeping his hands to himself?"

 

Sophia looked up at Kelly, eyes wide. "Please do something," she said.

 

Kelly grinned savagely down at her. "Are you kidding? I've been waiting for this for a long, long time. I should sell tickets."

 

"Do you still have them, at least," Scotty fumed, "or are we gonna traipse across of half Paris looking for a fence?"

 

Gno stared sullenly at his feeet. "I have them. I was going to make Sophia a present of the necklace on Christmas morning."

 

"Oh, Gino!" said Sophia, her eyes full of tears.

 

"Oh, yeah?" Kelly pushed off from his position against the far wall. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to Scotty like he was cutting in on a dance.

 

"By all means."

 

Scotty relinquished Gino's lapels to Kelly, who pushed him up against the wall. "You were gonna make her a present of it. That's romantic," Kelly said. "And how long do you think it would have taken for your good wife to be arrested, _wearing_ a _stolen_ _artifact_ that's on the front page of every newspaper in the country?"

 

"I thought of that," muttered Gino. "It's on sale at the gift shop. A copy," he added.

 

"Then WHY, in the name of all that's holy, didn't you just BUY her a copy from the gift shop?!!" Scotty bellowed.

 

"It was closed."

 

Kelly slapped a hand to his forehead, and dragged it down his face, very, very slowly.

 

"Please," Sophia cut in, "can't we do something? Return it?"

 

"It's not that simple."

 

"Kelly's right. We can't just waltz in there, honey," Scotty affirmed. "There's security systems that you'd have to be a – a bunny rabbit to bypass, and cameras, and weight-sensitive bases, and… You'd need a team of experts. Gino's gotten himself in way over his head this time, honey. This isn't some privately-owned diamond ring – this is a government building."

 

"But you've broken into government buildings before – haven't you?"

 

"Yeah, but even if we could," said Scotty, "why should we do it? To get Gino off the hook for stealing – again? Seems like we should have _let_ him take the fall, might have learned his lesson the first time."

 

Sophia rose, a little awkwardly, from the bidet. "Yes, but…" The object of the conversation didn't speak, his eyes flitting from one person to another. "This time you will be depriving your grandchildren of their father. You know that this is a serious affair. He will not see his children for many years! And they will have to live with the disgrace of knowing their father was in prison!"

 

Kelly looked from her to Scotty. "The hang-up is, security systems have changed a lot in ten years."

 

"I thought you knew the museum security."

 

"We do, but knowin' it isn't the same as bypassing it."

 

"And beyond that," said Kelly, "the worst of it is, it doesn't _work_ like that. You don't just hand something back and "Oh, it was misplaced." There's gonna be an investigation, and they're gonna _keep_ investigating till they find who had the nerve to break into the Louvre twice – once to steal the stuff, and once to bring it back!"

 

Scotty blinked.

 

"Oh, Papa, you have found a way to save us! I know it!"

 

Kelly's eyes met Scotty's. "The forgeries?"

 

"Been goin' on and on for us to put 'em back, ain't he?"

 

"It could work. They might be grateful enough to the mystery savior that they'd overlook it, write it off as a mystery." He thought for a minute. "I bet Max would help."

 

Scotty frowned. "After the fact, and need to know only."

 

Kelly nodded tightly as Sophia squealed with delight, "You can do it, then? I knew you could always make everything right for me, Papa!"

 

But Scotty shook his head, looking down at the liquid brown eyes. "Like Kel said, it's not that simple. We’d need help, a team. Someone to provide distractions – we'd be putting stuff in, not taking it out, so that wouldn't be hard – but we'd need to fix it so the next shift would find the originals…"

 

"And no after-hours," Kelly added. "Too much security. In and out before closing time."

 

"And for a team…" Scotty's eyes rose to meet Kelly's.

 

 _We've got a team._

_________________________________________

 

"Now, kids, we're going on an adventure."

 

"I love adventures!" said Ferrara.

 

"Do we get to fly?" Carlo breathed.

 

 _"You_ will definitely get to do a little flying," Kelly confided. The youngster's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

 

"What is it?" asked Enzo.

 

"Well," said Scotty, "your Daddy picked up something by mistake from the museum. Now if anybody finds out, he'll be in trouble, and we don't want that, do we? So we've got to infiltrate the museum and put it back."

 

"What's infiltrate, Nonno Alessandro?" asked Fabio.

 

 _"_ _Infiltrare,_ _stupido!"_ retorted Anna-Maria.

 

 _"E_ _infiltrare_ _cos'e?"_ her brother challenged.

 

"Hey, hey, break it up!" Scotty said loudly. "Infiltrate means to go into a place secretly."

 

"Oooooh." Ferrara's face lit up. "A real adventure! Will I get to do something?"

 

"You certainly will, sweetheart," said Kelly. Despite his tension, Scotty was vaguely amused to see that Kelly's face was shining almost as bright as the children's, and that Mom wasn't looking too upset at the prospect either.

 

"Right," said Kelly, "so here's the plan…"

________________________

 

An hour before closing time at the Louvre, a number of guests could be seen entering the East Entrance. Among them, today, was a procession of children something like a school outing, the crowds that usually clogged the entrance parting good-naturedly at the sight of the young ones and the elderly, birdlike lady accompanying them with a baby on her arm, followed by a heavily pregnant girl, carrying quintuplets at least, and her husband, trailing in their wake.

 

As they went inside, one of the two men following the group could be seen leaning towards the other, but not heard whispering, "I can't believe they got in on half-price tickets."

 

"Are they senior citizens and children or are they not?"

 

"Yeah," Kelly looked around uncomfortably, "it just…"

 

"We're not knocking it over, so how's about you knock it _off?"_

 

"Knock yourself out, trying to make me."

 

"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Scotty looked quizzical as Kelly chuckled. _"What?"_

 

"Just thought. We're replacing the knockoffs."

_________________________

 

Michel stood sternly stationed at the corridor leading into the room where The Three Graces was displayed. The oohs and aahs of the public drifted over to him, as they admired the ancient artwork. Michel was proud of his job; protecting the nation's cultural heritage was an important duty, and he was no less important in his way than—

 

A high-pitched shriek jerked him out of his thoughts – Not on alert? What was he thinking? – and he hurried into the Hall, in time to hear another screech. He looked around for the source of the commotion: an elderly, dark-skinned woman, birdlike in a blue dress and a gigantic, oddly-shaped hat, was making the infernal noises while trying to cover her children's eyes. It was not an easy feat, as she had three children with her.

 

He was just about to approach her when she rounded on him. Her hat fell off and one of the little brats with her picked it up and scurried off with it on her little head; it covered her eyebrows and made her look like an ambulatory modern sculpture as she disappeared into the crowd. "You should be ashamed of yourself, young man!" she shouted in English, not even looking after her lost charge.

 

 _"Pourquoi, Madame?"_ Michel rolled his eyes. _Une Americaine._ How abominable.

 

"Don't you talk French to me. You just speak English like the rest of the world! Now listen here! This – this – this filth you've got up here is a disgrace! I want to see the manager!"

 

"The…" He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nostrils. "Madame, this is not a restaurant."

 

"No, no it's not! If it were, you could have _signs, warnings_  to protect impressionable young minds! But you have the nerve to open this place to the public, to CHILDREN, and then you show these naked—" The woman looked as though she was about to have an apoplectic fit. Well, Michel couldn't help thinking uncharitably, at least it would shut her up. He idly calculated the relative amount of lost productivity and man-hours that would result from her untimely demise as opposed to her continued existence as she kept up her monologue on how this unclothed filth would never be shown in any clean and wholesome American museum.

 

"And I can tell you, young feller-me-lad… ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!"

 

"My dear lady, I would wager the whole of the Louvre is listening to you," he said frostily. It was true: the entire complement of the Hall had decided that Madame Hysterique was a lot more fun than even the voluptuous curves and naked derrières of the Three Graces, and was forming a semicircle roughly six deep. He could see some people debating whether it would be all right to take photographs.

 

"They had better! They had just better, that's all, because where _I_ come from, folks know the meaning of modesty and decency. It's no wonder the Church Knitting and Baked Goods Ladies' Social Circle warned me about Paris, back home! It's a den of vice, they said! Iniquity and corruption! Don't go there, they said, you'll never be the same again, they said! But me, I said NO, because I, you see, have a liberal mind!"

 

 _"Oui,"_ he said stiffly. "Very liberal."

 

"Yes, liberal, and don't you forget it! And that's quite enough out of you! One more word and you'll be seeing the business end of my handbag!"

 

Michel had taken courses on how to deal with burly gorillas three times his weight, but the security company had not provided any training for this kind of situation. "I could have you dismissed from this Hall," he quavered, taking a nervous step backwards.

 

"I would just like to see you try it," said Madame Hysterique, stepping forward and brandishing her handbag. "Now, are you going to get me the manager, or do I have to call the police and have you all arrested for indecent exposure?"

 

As the commotion raged on behind them, Fabio and Anna-Maria tipped each other the wink as they crept in underneath the barriers, out of camera range, and carefully slipped the two genuine paintings in behind the fakes hanging on display. Behind them, Carlo gently extricated the last of them out of his great-grandmother's hat, and slipped it into position before padding silently up the stairs.

 

He was proud that he'd been so quiet, but he could tell it wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't been silent, he thought. His great-grandmother was still shrieking fit to wake the dead.

_________________________________________

 

Kelly stood beside Gino and Sophia, facing a large-format painting, Sophia with a powder-puff in her hand, the kind with a small makeup mirror. He helped her angle it as Carlo scurried by, followed moments later by Fabio and Anna-Maria. "That's our cue," he said.

 

"I do not like having my children mixed up in this," said Gino, looking very green.

 

"What, are you _kidding?"_  Kelly enthused as the three adults turned and went upstairs. "They're _naturals! Look_ at how that pair…" he lowered his voice, "got under the security cameras without anyone seeing them! Sure you're just returning stuff now, but later, back _home,_ if you ever decide to knock off the Museo Nazionale, you'll have a bunch of apprentices helping you! You could be a super-successful gang!"

 

 _"Be quiet about my children,"_ Gino grated, swinging round to face Kelly. A muscle in his jaw trembled.

 

Kelly regarded him with cool equanimity for a long moment, then looked past him to Sophia. "Are we out of camera range?" she asked nervously.

 

"Yeah," said Kelly, "go ahead."

 

Sophia rummaged beneath her dress. Her pregnant belly decreased slightly in size as she pulled out the scarab, followed by the necklace, followed by a long coil of metal cable, as thick as a man's finger. "As long as you are sure." She looked nervously about her.

 

"Positive. We went over the security a dozen times when we were investigating the robberies. There's a bunch of cameras that only get turned on at night, and there's nothing to guard inside any more, so the camera's turned off. And out here, there aren't any security cameras at all beyond that point," he gestured to a turnoff about five feet from where they stood, "because the ceiling's too flimsy. Nobody can walk on it. Nobody our size, anyway. They change the lights with a high ladder, from below. Nobody could get in the room unless it's a kid trained to walk on ceilings!" Kelly caught Gino's eye. "Like your budding criminal mastermind!"

 

"I do not like this," said Gino again.

 

Kelly grinned, wide and steely. "You wanna stay on in this career? Better get used to it." He turned to Sophia. "Get him out of here. We need to be out before closing."

 

And he was gone, up the stairs two at a time.

__________________________________________

 

Carlo was dizzy with excitement. He'd always dreamed he'd get the chance to fly, but hang-gliders had to be grown-up, and so did parachutists… And his Zio Kelly was so exciting, just being with him made him feel like he was in the middle of the world's greatest adventure. Even though he was trying to be the sensible one, Carlo could tell that his Zio was having just as much fun as he was.

 

His uncle was still fussing with the harness around his waist and shoulders, tugging it to make sure it was safe. "Now you walk slow, okay? And if you feel anything funny, give the line a yank and I'll pull you right up."

 

"I won't."

 

"No, you have to promise me."

 

Carlo sighed, but at the steel in his uncle's eyes, he dutifully repeated, "I promise."

 

He shuffled out over the ceiling tiles as Zio Kelly had taught him. "Running puts all your body weight on your feet, and you'll go down. Too slow and you have your weight in one place for too long. Make like you're skating."

 

Arriving at the ceiling joist, he climbed through the gap as he'd been shown, so that the cable attached to his waist now passed above the thick beam. Bending, he slipped his fingers easily into the space between the ceiling tiles, and lifted one aside. He gave the thumbs-up to the figure in the shadows at the other end. "Andiamo?"

 

There was an answering thumbs-up, and a flash of white teeth. "Step off slowly."

 

And for the first time, Carlo stepped off solid ground into thin air.

 

It was incredible, better than he could have imagined. He rotated slowly as he was lowered down, seeing everything from above, and it was… it was… He opened his mouth to squeal with joy, then clamped it shut. _Dio,_ he almost gave the game away!

 

The wonderful, ecstatic feeling lasted a few more seconds, and then he was dangling above the plinth where the necklace had stood. Careful to keep it wrapped in the cloth, he took it out of his pocket and shook it out of its wrapping so that it landed on the plinth. Perfect landing! Superman saves the day!

 

Pocketing the wrapping, he tugged on the rope and up he went. Going up was even more incredible than going down. _What goes down must come up,_ he thought suddenly, and stifled a giggle.

 

He was giddy and exhilarated when he finally landed on the ledge, climbed over the joist and, _totally not needing_   Zio Kelly's reminder to shuffle, made it back to his uncle on the landing. He flung himself into his uncle's arms, hugging him hard and starting to say loudly, "It was incredible!" before a 'Ssh' made him subside and whisper. "It was so wonderful! I was flying…"

 

Suddenly, Carlo trailed off, embarrassed. His eyes were tearing up like a girl's! Why would he want to cry when he was so happy? And what would his uncle think of him? "Sorry," he said hurriedly. "I don't know why I'm…"

 

But he blinked when he saw Zio Kelly's face: his uncle's eyes were shining, too.

 

"It's cool, Carlo." Zio Kelly gave him a slightly watery smile. "Most men don't learn this too early, kiddo," he said, "but it's okay to cry when you're – when you're really, really happy. When you've wanted something your whole life and never, ever thought you'd get it – when you fly for the first time when you thought you'd never leave the ground – it's… It's all right."

 

Carlo hugged his uncle again, tight, and felt his embrace returned.

 

"Of course," said Zio Kelly, "if we weren't returning something, this would be very naughty. It's exciting, but you need to always remember to work for the good guys."

 

"Like Superman," Carlo said into Zio Kelly's shirt.

 

"Yeah," his uncle said, kissing his hair. "Just like Superman."

_______________________________

 

"I don't like this."

 

"It is all your fault, darling, but I still love you."

 

Gino stood uncomfortably outside Bonaparte's suite, waiting for the signal. "My fault that I love you? My fault that I want the best for you?"

 

"The best for me is my children growing up with their father. With me growing old with the man I love."

 

"You will never grow old, Sophia. You will remain forever young and beautiful, in my eyes."

 

"Oh, Gino, why do I love you?" Sophia turned to her husband and they melted into a passionate kiss.

__________________________________

 

Jean propped his feet up on the security desk. Last half-hour before closing time. Nothing ever happened at this…

 

"ENZO, STOP IT!"

 

"FORGET IT!"

 

"YOU CAN'T CATCH ME!"

 

He jerked upright as two tiny whirlwinds burst into his office, not more than five or six years old. "You can't be in here!" he shouted, but since when did five-year olds understand? Ask his own kids. "OUT!" he bellowed, just as one kid shoved the other and…

 

…and her hand slammed squarely down on the 'Emergency Power Off' button.

_____________________

 

The lights went out and the adults jumped apart, ready for action. "Mamma, Papa, cut the mush!" panted Ferrara as she pelted in. "Nonno Alessandro said we have just under minutes before the alarms activate again!"

 

"Oh…" Sophia fumbled with her dress. She'd got so caught up in the kiss that she'd forgotten to dislodge the paintings from her belly. Perhaps it was just as well: the cameras might have caught them.

 

"Mamma, it's all right. Here." Ferrara pulled at her waistband and the rolled-up paintings, all of them, cascaded from her dress as though she had just given birth to an art gallery. "Let me help."

 

And the girl was loading up armfuls of paintings and stacking them on Bonaparte's desk, only pausing a minute to sit in his chair. "Wow…"

 

Her brother rushed in. "Having all the fun! No fair!"

 

"Not my fault I run faster'n you! Now c'mon!"

 

Within a few minutes mother, father and kids had the paintings all secreted in various places about Napoleon's suite. Gino had just handed Sophia out over the velvet rope before the lights came on again.

 

"Mission accomplished," Gino said with a sense of pride, beaming at the twins. Robinson's words scratched at the back of his brain: _Super-successful gang. Budding criminal mastermind._

 

Suddenly he wasn't so proud anymore.

___________________________________________

 

The object of these reflections was just smoothing the front of the janitor's uniform he, like his partner, had pulled on as soon as the lights went out.

 

"Are you boys ready?" Mom's voice came out of the darkness. She handed his partner his final accessory: Francesca.

 

"As we'll ever be," said Scotty, cradling the baby and grinning as the lights went on: perfect timing. "Shall we?"

 

"By all means."

 

Trying to look confident, Kelly sidled into the Ancient Egyptian Room where the scarab had been. It was still sporting quite a healthy crowd, for it held a ton of other exhibits – all linked to the same alarm as that loving scarab – but his partner had the scratch for that itch.

 

Scotty stepped inside smoothly; he had complete confidence in their plan. The only thing was, it was a little strange for a janitor to be holding a baby, but hopefully the people wouldn't notice, and after they did what they'd come for, it wouldn't matter. Grinning, Scotty bent over as though to clean something and deftly unwrapped the diaper from his granddaughter – a diaper, if he didn't miss his guess, and he _didn't,_ that was chock-full of concentrated Eau de Francesca.

 

The effect was instantaneous: the fleeing museum-goers never knew what hit them.

 

"Everybody out for a moment," called Kelly confidently, nudging the brown mess closer to the door with his foot, which caused the security guard to take a step back. Scotty's granddaughter didn't produce no Brand X, he'd have to give her that.

 

Quickly, they made their way over to the glass case with its weight-activated alarm. Palming the scarab, he allowed himself a moment of anticipation. This was the home stretch. If they got this done, they'd be home free. "Okay," he said to Scotty, "give me the weights."

 

" _You_ have the weights!"

 

"Very funny, man, come on, quit goofing."

 

"I'm not goofing, man, _you_ were supposed to bring the weights."

 

"What?" Kelly slapped his forehead. "You have GOT to be kidding me!"

 

"What are we gonna do now, bubblehead?"

 

"Don't go callin' me a bubble—Okay. Okay, gimme the baby."

 

 _"What?"_

 

"I'm not foolin' around, man! Gimme the baby!"

 

Scotty stood a little straighter and held the baby protectively. "My granddaughter…"

 

"What, you think I'm going to throw her to the wolves, Hester? Now unless you want her father to be a jailbird, you better gimme the damn baby!"

 

"Don't insult my grand—Hey!" Scotty remonstrated as Kelly reached out and plucked Francesca from Scotty's arms.

 

"The weight of the case is approximately eight pounds, right?" Kelly asked over his shoulder as he circled the plinth.

 

"You're not seriously suggesting…"

 

"Give or take a few ounces, right?"

 

"You know it, but…"

 

"You know the alarm goes off if the surface weight changes beyond a few ounces, Jack. You _know_ that."

 

Kelly locked eyes with Scotty as he held out the baby over the glass case. Scotty fell silent and they moved smoothly, in complete unison, Scotty lifting the case as Kelly lowered Francesca carefully down onto the weight-sensitive, alarmed surface.

 

He heaved a sigh of relief when the baby was all the way down and the glass case was held high in Scotty's steady hands. "Where's that damned beetle?"

 

"In your pocket. And it's a scarab, not a beetle."

 

Kelly pulled it out. "Scarab, beetle, you can be awfully pernickety sometimes, Fred C." He placed the shiny little piece carefully on the display case and locked eyes with Scotty as they reversed the procedure, Kelly lifting and Scotty lowering.

 

He breathed a long sigh as the lip of the glass landed on the case, closing it. Whatever else happened, they were in the clear. Paintings they could explain away to Max. These, they couldn't.

 

"C'mon," Kelly said to Scotty, "let's slip into something more comfortable." Leaving the Eau de Francesca as a souvenir, they handed the baby smoothly off to Mom, standing discreetly in a niche, and ducked into a deserted corridor with no cameras. Kelly reached for the buttons, but stopped when he saw Scotty's uneasy expression. "Hey, what's up?"

 

Scotty nodded his head at a painting – one of the famous ones where the subject's eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went in the room. "She's _watching_ me, man!"

 

Kelly laughed and laughed.

______________________________________

 

They finally decided it was better to betake themselves to the men's room. In the privacy of the cubicles, Scotty and Kelly shimmied out of their janitors' uniforms, handing them discreetly under the spaces between stalls to a small hand – Fabio's. He scurried across the corridor and disappeared into the ladies' room, handing the uniforms to Sophia, who stuffed them under her 'pregnant' midriff.

 

They made it out of the museum just as the loudspeakers were proclaiming closing time. Casual passers-by would have found nothing unusual about a group of children with their parents and grandparents, munching on hotdogs and scurrying towards the taxi-rank in the bright December snow. Sophia had thanked them with her usual gushing effusiveness, but Gino seemed curiously silent and pensive. Good, thought Kelly. About damned time.

 

"One more thing to do before bed," Scotty said to Kelly, and Kelly nodded. Time to wrap this up, find out what was really going on.

 

"On one condition," he retorted.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"We go home and take a shower. I'm not facing any member of the aristocracy smelling like _this."_

__________________________

 

It did not seem possible for a mansion to look… _sad._

 

Yet the house on the hill, out in the 19th Arrondissement, despite the little lights in the windows, seemed to sigh in the wind, with the trees bereft of Christmas decorations. "Spooky," Scotty muttered as he steered the loaner Renault – they'd convinced Max to let them go alone this time – up the long, curving driveway. French aristocrats were strangely lax about security, he mused, which was strange given 1789. Maybe they figured they had nothing left to lose.

 

"Casper."

 

"Huh?"

 

"You called me 'Spooky', didn't ya?"

 

Scotty breathed a little laugh. "No, it's not… It's…" He looked up at the sixteenth-century mansion. "This place is like Halloween, man."

 

"I hear ya." He could hear his own unease reflected in Kelly's voice.

 

As they stood together on the front porch, Kelly put an arm round Scotty. "Don't worry about the big bad ghosts, Michelle. I'll protect you."

 

Scotty rang the doorbell. "If one comes, I'll toss you at him and take off." But he didn't shake off Kelly's arm.

 

He didn't know what he'd expected to find behind the door; the realistic expectation was a butler or servant of some sort, although he wouldn't have been surprised if the door had swung open to reveal cobwebs and screaming banshees. But the tall, rotund, bespectacled gentleman who opened the door merely looked them up and down, and nodded once, slowly. "Come in," he said. "I've been expecting you."

________________________________________________

 

"You must understand, gentlemen." Richelieu Junior – if one could call a fifty-year-old 'Junior' – belted his grey dressing-gown more tightly about his ample waist, "I was not aware of the nature of my father's work at first."

 

Kelly nursed his brandy while Scotty sipped his hot chocolate. "Sure. You wouldn't be the first guy whose own dad stuck it to him," Kelly said reassuringly, then looked away as though he'd said too much. "Go on, sir."

 

Scotty shifted a little closer to Kelly, nudging his elbow and smiling as Richelieu continued. "The scandal was hushed up because of our family – we do have some important contacts in the government. You must have guessed, else you would not be here, that my father made weapons for the Nazis."

 

"It's all right," Scotty said gently. "You didn't know about it."

 

"How can it be all right, when the blood that flows in one's veins is tainted?" Richelieu sighed. "When the very flesh on your bones is built upon injustice, upon the destruction of your fellow-man?"

 

Kelly met his eyes steadily. "You learn to live with it. You do what you can to make amends."

 

Frowning, Scotty cut in. "Tell us about the paintings."

 

The man sighed deeply and settled more comfortably into his chair. "You're aware of the invention known as black light?"

 

"Yes," said Scotty, while Kelly said, "Not really."

 

"Yeah, you do, man. Remember when we were decoding the Gustafson brief? There's an ink that only shows up when you shine an invisible ultraviolet light on it."

 

"Oh yeah. Right. So what…" Kelly looked up at the guy with new understanding dawning. "There was something on the backs of the paintings, wasn't there."

 

"Almost correct. It was on the backing in the frames."

 

"Understood," Kelly nodded.

 

"Care to tell us what it was, sir?"

 

"Before he retired," Richelieu said slowly, "my father was very active in the invention of land mines." Kelly and Scotty waited patiently. "Their invention… and placement."

 

Kelly frowned incredulously, and Scotty leaned forward in his seat. "Uh-huh."

 

"He was responsible for the placement of entire sectors of land mines in various areas during the War. It was rumored that he was the only man in possession of a map of the location and placements of over seventy per cent of land mines in Europe. Not even Goebbels possessed that knowledge in such detail."

 

Kelly and Scotty traded glances, eyes wide.

 

"For a long time, my father was understandably reluctant to place these locations in any single map that might be copied or easily stolen. He had an eidetic memory, so it was safe in his head, but he knew that the human body must age and weaken. He feared that he might one day forget, and he wished to preserve the map as…" The man shook his head. "…As an investment." He swallowed. "It shames me to say it," he said, so low they could scarcely hear him, "but he thought he could one day sell it to grateful governments, and be richly rewarded. Blood money, to be paid again for his crimes."

 

"It's all right," Scotty said, even as Kelly said, "You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

 

"Have I not?" The blue eyes that rose to theirs were agonized. "I failed at my duty – till the day he died I begged him to release that information. He would not. His death was sudden, and I thought I could make use of the window of time to attempt…" Richelieu trailed off. "I was too late. I do not think even he wished the map to disappear, unknown forevermore…"

 

"You said—map," said Kelly, his voice strangely hushed. "Not maps."

 

The aristocrat gave him a rueful smile. "Yes, Mr. Robinson, I said, "map."

 

Scotty was staring. "But the scale of such a thing—the size—not just countries, but down to meters… I don't know how many countries, but each and every landmine…"

 

"That is why it was so big, Mr. Scott. It was a mammoth undertaking. It was four years in the making, and I believe he enlisted experts with him to create it." He laughed bitterly. "They all mysteriously died afterwards."

 

Kelly impulsively reached forward and put a hand on his knee. "You did your best."

 

Scotty's brain-gears were clearly still turning. "But… the size…"

 

Richelieu took a deep, sighing breath, clapped his hands on his knees and stood. "Come upstairs with me, gentlemen."

 

"Jesus," Kelly breathed.

 

Bare of furnishings, with dark-stained walls, the conference room occupied the entire top floor of the chateau, perhaps thirty yards in width by fifty yards in length. Beneath their feet, taking up almost the entire floor of the room, was an expanse of black, heavy canvas, or perhaps some sort of fabric-based paper. If one looked closely, one could see the faint lines where it had been made of multiple parts, and then carefully pieced together.

 

"A moment, gentlemen," said Richelieu.

 

He turned off the Louis XV chandelier. In the darkness, his shadowy figure crossed to the fuse-box of the master control-panel, and flipped a switch. Like a magic trick, the blackness of the floor lit up like a starry night.

 

Kelly and Scotty stared for a moment, taken aback by the astonishing beauty of the unique document. Even knowing what it was had not prepared them for the sight.

 

It was a collage, clearly formed out of the backings of all the stolen paintings. Brilliant phosphorescent lines punctuated by thousands of points of light, creating the effect of a map of the constellations in the night sky. And yet, it was no map of the stars: as they stared they could see it was a map of Europe.

 

"It has taken me years to piece it together," Richelieu explained, voice tinged with embarrassment in the darkness.

 

Without a word, Scotty dropped to his knees, and Kelly followed suit. For what seemed like a long time, they merely gazed at the map; gradually, their examination focused, taking in the tiny points and examining the painstakingly labeled place names, marked out and detailed with military precision, down to the sets of numbers indicating latitude and longitude, and in places, far too many to count, maps of individual mines. France, Austria, Germany, Poland, other places as yet unstudied. It would take years, Scotty realized, to study, and looking up at Kelly, he realized that his partner had come to the same conclusion. The lives that could be saved by such a document… In the faint light coming in from the window, they stared at each other, slightly stupefied by the magnitude of it.

 

They were startled back to reality by the overhead light snapping on. "Satisfied, gentlemen?"

 

Suddenly realizing that they were sitting on the precious document, they scrambled to their feet. Scotty was the first to speak. "You could have just told the government," he said softly, wonderingly. "Ain't a government in the world that wouldn't give their eyeteeth for this. They'd have gotten the paintings out for you easy, no sweat."

 

"That's true," said Kelly. "Any museum would have responded to that kind of requisition."

 

"This may be hard for you gentlemen to understand," Richelieu seemed even more shamefaced, "but…"

 

"You've done a good thing," Scotty said gently. "We just wanna understand, that's all."

 

The portly man crossed over to the window, stood staring out, leaning heavily on a marble column. "I… did not wish my father to be remembered as a war criminal," he said heavily. _"Le bon Dieu_ will judge him for his sins, I know that. But…" He breathed in, out. "I managed to… As I have said, we are an influential family. I managed to keep the secret of his true involvement with the Nazis from becoming public knowledge." He half-turned to Kelly and Scotty. "It may have been the right thing to expose him, but perhaps I only wanted him, selfishly, to keep his good name for the sake of myself and my sisters."

 

"Not selfish at all," Kelly said.

 

The man's shoulders slumped a little in relief. "I thought, if I resorted to clandestine means to right his wrongs, it would not be so grave a sin to move a few works of art temporarily from place to place."

 

"Can't really argue with that," said Scotty. "But what I don't get is, how did you get the museum personnel to sign off on the fakes being the real McCoy? Wasn't a single person who woulda stayed with the museum long enough to oversee all those forgeries."

 

"I didn't."

 

Kelly blinked. "Come again?"

 

Richelieu began to lead them slowly downstairs. "You must have noticed that there are many different specialists for each field and each era. When it came time for inspections to be run, I would temporarily replace the fakes with the real paintings via my trusty servants on the inside."

 

"Your trusty…"

 

Kelly stopped so suddenly on the stairs that Scotty rammed into him. "What?"

 

"The doorman and one of the cleaning ladies!"

 

Scotty breathed out in a long _whoosh_. "Oh my…"

 

Turning on the stairs, Richelieu looked impressed. "You're certainly very sharp, gentlemen!" He resumed his steady descent. "Indeed," he continued, his voice perfectly audible in the stairwell, "Those are the only two who stayed on at the museum long enough to be involved with the replacement effort. Old servants of the family, faithful to me, and to my father…"

 

"Wait a minute." Kelly's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "You returned them to the museum every time an expert conducted an inspection?"

 

"Yes." They'd reached the living room. "Please, finish your brandy."

 

Kelly sat and picked up his glass again while Scotty took a gulp of his now-lukewarm hot chocolate. "That, that doesn't make sense. Once you'd got the backing out of them, why not just return the originals?"

 

"Right. I mean, you'd got what you wanted, hadn't you?"

 

"Putting together the map was not as easy as it seems," Richelieu confided. "My father had an elaborate system whereby the names of the towns and cities were encoded into the paintings themselves. It has taken me close on fifteen years to break that code."

 

"I'm… kinda an amateur cryptographer myself. Could I have a look at it sometime?"

 

"Certainly, Mr. Scott. It will be my pleasure. Come over for a drink anytime. And you too, of course, Mr. Robinson."

 

"But…" Kelly started. "It seemed… as if you wanted the originals to be discovered. Why not just hand them in to the police?"

 

"And then, who would know about my map?"

 

The agents' jaws dropped. Scotty recovered first. "You…"

 

"It was a test?" Kelly breathed.

 

"Well, no, not as such," Richelieu looked down at the table. "Once the work was done… I had spent fifteen years thinking of little else, you see. My sisters are married and far away, and my mother is long gone. I had no wife – I felt it would be sufficient expiation for the sins of my family if I forewent marriage to do this task…"

 

"Oh no, not another one," Scotty muttered to the tabletop.

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

Kelly elbowed his partner. "Thinks he's a card. Take no notice. Go on, sir."

 

The man sighed. "Once I was done with the map, I did not know who to give it to. The military might well use it for purposes of warfare. The press would publish it so widely it would be seen as an elaborate hoax, or worse, an enemy plot. Private hands would only sell it to the highest bidder, and it might conceivably end up in the wrong hands. That left the police, and I didn't want to entrust this to just anybody…"

 

"It _was_ a test," Kelly said slowly.

 

"I needed to see who I could trust."

 

"You can trust our Max," Kelly said firmly. "He stood by us when… a lot of people didn't."

 

"He'll be over the moon," Scotty agreed. "Something like this is… now the paintings are back, once he knows the reason, I'm sure he'll find a way to smooth it out with the museum.

 

"And I'm sure he'll use the map the way you wanted it to be used." Kelly's demeanor was serious. "You have our word on that."

 

"You do," Scotty nodded. "And Monsieur Richelieu…"

 

"Please, call me Olivier."

 

"Scotty, then."

 

"And Kelly."

 

Scotty nodded in agreement. "Olivier, then – you do know you're not him, right? You made different choices. You're…" He gestured up to the attic, though it seemed weird to call it that. "That map… It was – a labor of love. You're a good man. You didn't need to do that to yourself, to pay for something he did."

 

"Who knows? You may be right." The lonely man took a deep breath. "It may have been unwise, but… I have not had human contact for a long time, and I freely admit I may not be the best judge of how to go about… human affairs."

 

Scotty looked over at his partner to find Kelly already looking at him. "You think?" Kelly asked.

 

Scotty smiled, warmth filling him. There was no greater high than having someone on your wavelength. "Sure."

 

"Mom would love him."

 

"She's a sucker for strays."

 

"Yeah, look how she adopted me."

 

"You are so not a comedian."

 

"Gentlemen?"

 

Scotty ignored him. "One thing."

 

Kelly looked wary. "What?"

 

 _"You_ get to explain this to Max."

_________________________________________________

 

"Mom, this turkey is outstanding!"

 

"Indeed it is, Madame," said Olivier Richelieu. "I have dined at the world's finest restaurants and never partaken of a meal as sumptuous as this." And he took her hand and kissed it.

 

Ferrara whooped in approval as some of her brothers made gagging noises. Mom blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl as Scotty said loudly, "Hey! That's my mom you're kissin'!"

 

Scotty leaned back and smiled beatifically. He was high, or perhaps it was whatever Mom had put in that stuffing. It was a picture-perfect Christmas: the rich smells filling the house, the warmth of family, the chattering of the children, the tree and the lights and the presents… He smiled at the thought of the beautiful necklace, identical to the original that Gino had stolen, that he'd bought from the gift shop before they left the museum, and which he had now wrapped up with a card that said "To Sophia from Gino." He was looking forward to having some fun with Gino when the gifts were opened, but for now… He looked at Olivier, another crazy nut who believed he didn't deserve family. Then he looked over at his own crazy nut. Olivier would have to go and find someone, was all. Everybody had to, sometime. 'Course, he wouldn't find nobody as wonderful as Kelly, but that cat was one of a kind.

 

Kelly put down the phone. "Saddle up," he said, clapping Scotty on the shoulder. "We gotta go out."

 

"At Christmas?" whined Scotty, echoed by his mother and some of the kids.

 

"We gotta work. Won't be long," Kelly called cheerfully. He was already putting on his coat, barely giving Scotty time to put his on before shepherding Scotty out onto the stairs. "C'mon, taxi's waiting."

 

__________________________________________

 

"This had better be good," Soctty muttered as the city lights sped past. But his eyebrows rose as they sped past the Surete HQ. "Wha… I thought we were goin' to meet Max?"

 

"All things come to those who wait," said Kelly, and the Smug Sphinx look, as Scotty preferred to call it, on Kelly's face, made him shut up.

 

But it was more than he could do to keep silent as they alighted outside the Louvre. "Oh, no, not again. If I never see this museum again for… for at least a year, it'll be too soon for…"

 

"Put a sock in it, Dobbsie," Kelly said as he got their security passes from the door and were waved in.

 

"What is with this Mysterious Woman act? We meetin' Max here? Why all the cloak and dagger?"

 

"That's for me to know and you to find out, Double-Oh-Dum-Dum."

 

"I didn't come here to be insulted."

 

Suddenly, the red lights of the alarms all went out. The tiny exit lights, the little safety lamps – it was clearly a power outage, and the marble floors suddenly glowed in the moonlight. Scotty stared at Kelly, who was still looking smug, and suddenly it clicked—he realized that Kelly had been _waiting_ for it to click, in his head—only it couldn't be what he was thinking, no way it could be...

 

And Kelly smiled. "We have one hour."

 

His mind was still dazed. "What?"

 

"Max is an old romantic."

 

"Wh—No."

 

"Indeed yes, oh yes."

 

Scotty could believe a lot of things, but— "You are lovin' _kidding_ me!"

 

"The latter, no. The former," Kelly pulled him forward, "I hope to be doing in very short order…"

 

There were more words, but Scotty could not remember what they were saying anymore. "You're insane, man," Scotty laughed breathlessly as they loped along the corridors.

 

"Takes one to know one."

 

"Yeah, you—"

 

They ran through the door of the chamber, but skidded to a halt, awed, at the foot of the staircase. The moonlight was splashing in through the windowpanes, silvering Samothrace's great wingspan as she seemed  to float above them, the towering, bright-feathered expanse shining and reflected in the white marble staircase.

 

"My God," whispered Kelly. He looked up at the sweeping, graceful curve, turned ethereal and miraculous by the light, and he was still looking up when Scotty pressed his lips against his craned neck.

 

They fell together at the base of the statue. "Live up… to your… fantasies?" Kelly panted, fumbling with Scotty's shirt-buttons.

 

"More fun than… art appreciation class."

 

"You're kind of artistic yourself," Kelly said, looking up at his partner's muscular form, planes and angles catching the moonlight.

 

"Look who's talking," Scotty murmured, tracing Kelly's body with hands and lips. "You're prettier 'n she is."

 

"I think I resent… _mmm_ … being called pretty."

 

Scotty looked up, catching Kelly's eyes, and Kelly's breath caught  in his throat. "'S because if I said you were more beautiful 'n Michelangelo's _David,_ you'd smack me right in the mouth."

 

"True… true… ooh."

 

"'Sides, I wouldn't lie to you, man."

 

"That's nice. Would it kill you to admit that I am the most handsome specimen of… mmm…" Kelly gasped as he was engulfed by a hot mouth and his world contracted to the pulsing heat between his thighs. "Diversionary… tactics…" he managed to grate out, "that's dirty pool… oh." Scotty had found a reliable way to shut him up, but it only worked for a few seconds. "Hey. Hey, move over."

 

"Now what?"

 

Kelly adjusted himself. "Stair was digging into my hip, man."

 

"You are a genius… at spoiling the mood, Otis, anyone ever tell you that?"

 

"Only ingrates. Here I am, bending over backwards to provide a romantic atmosphere…"

 

"Which you then promptly kill. Stairs digging into my hip. That's gotta be the most romantic line I ever heard, stairs digging into my…"

 

"Let's see how you like it." Kelly rolled him over and play-wrestled him down, catching glimpses of the great wings spread above them as they rolled over and over, catching the same awestruck glance in Scotty's eyes as he saw the same view.

 

Laughing, they ended up sprawled on their backs side-by-side on the marble staircase, gazing up at the silvered statue, feathered planes and angles picked out by the slanting light. "Oh, man," Kelly finally whispered. "Oh, man."

 

"See?" said Scotty smugly, head resting on Kelly's outflung arm. "Was I right or what?"

 

"Much as it pains me to admit it."

 

"Yeah," Kelly could hear the warm rumble of satisfaction in Scotty's tone, "ever since I saw her. I was what, nineteen? I used to spend hours starin' up at her, dreaming of doing this. I figured," his voice took on a tinge of embarrassed amusement, "the children that would burst forth from my beloved's loins would be tall, beautiful, graceful as goddesses," he waved a lofty hand, "because at the moment of conception, my beloved had looked upon the Winged Victory… Huh." He shook his head. "Wild."

 

Scotty looked over at Kelly. He noticed that Kelly had gone very silent and still.

 

"Oh, no," he growled dangerously. "Oh, _no._ Do not even _think_ of doing this to me, Herman, not here, not now, not when we've only got an hour."

 

Kelly's face was tight. "Scotty, I'm a man."

 

"No _way!"_ Scotty rolled up on one elbow, face a mask of shocked horror. "Get _outa_ here!"

 

Kelly chuffed out a helpless chuckle. "Yeah. But… It's not too late, man. You could…"

 

Scotty slapped a palm against his forehead, and his head fell back to the staris with a thunk. "Ow! That hurt!"

 

Kelly rose to one elbow. "Well, don't blame me."

 

Scotty sat up. "Of course I blame you, you prize bubblehead! How many times do I gotta tell you—"

 

"You could have had—"

 

"—a lousy life with someone I didn't want to spend every day with." He paused a moment. "Unless this is some kinda polite brush-off? 'Less it's you missing the comforts of domestic bliss, a house fulla kids—"

 

It was Kelly's turn to sit up. "Are you kidding? We've _got_ a houseful of kids. I can't wait for them to leave. I never wanna set eyes on another little cherub for-as-long-as-I-shall-live-so-help-me-God."

 

Scotty threw back his head and laughed. "The man is beginning to see the light."

 

"Yeah." Kelly's expression was serious. "But you know, man, it's really not too—"

 

"Hoo, _boy!_ Are you breakin' up with me? Jilting an innocent young man…" he ignored the snort of derision, "at the feet of Samothrace?"

 

"I only…"

 

Scotty gazed into Kelly's eyes, held them for a long moment, and asked firmly, "Do you wanna grow into a grouchy old curmudgeon with anyone but me, Herman?"

 

Kelly's gaze was caught, and he was pulled in, helpless, swallowing hard. He blinked a couple of times, then quirked  a lopsided smile and raised his brows. "As long as it's with you, I know I'm gonna _be_ a grouchy old curmudgeon. Sweetness and light don't become a man who has to have daily dealings with ol' Ebenezer, here."

 

"You gonna sit there insulting me at the feet of Samothrace, or you going to find something better to do with your mouth?"

 

Kelly put on a long-suffering expression. "I suppose I'd better _carpe diem."_ He looked around expectantly.

 

"What are you waiting for _now?"_

 

"Choirs of angels. Or a chorus line from the Moulin Rouge. Whichever comes first."

 

Scotty jumped him.

 ____________________________________

 

Sated, they lay looking up at the great wings. Kelly's head rested on Scotty's shoulder, Scotty's head lying on Kelly's arm, awkwardly bent under both of them. "My arm's falling asleep here, you know," Kelly sighed contentedly.

 

"Complain, complain." Scotty reached over and pulled Kelly's discarded shirt over to cover the pale chest. "Careful. Catch your death."

 

Kelly shifted and turned to the side, sliding his cheek along Scotty's skin, laying his palm flat over Scotty's heart. "So you wanna move, or cripple me for life?"

 

Scotty brought his hand up and laid it over Kelly's, slipping his fingers into the spaces between Kelly's own. "You wanna move, go right ahead," he said, voice slow and rich with satisfaction. "Don't let me stop you."

 

They stayed on.

 


End file.
